


Wastelanders

by Lea_Miles



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Cynical Male Character, F/M, Flirting, Funny, Funny Male Character, Human, Kyle is a Tomboy, Original Fiction, POV Male Character, Post-Apocalypse, Romance, Strong Female Characters, Wasteland, Who is Kyle?, You'll see!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 12:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20174329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lea_Miles/pseuds/Lea_Miles
Summary: (Possible multiple POV in the future)The main character in this story doesn't remember his name, the blast that created the wasteland that once was earth and corrupted the very soil of the earth wiped his memory. Oh... right... and it created *creatures* fondly called 'Raiders' for the time being. Our 'Hero' is a quirky witty bastard =v= with combat skills and street smarts working to recover his memory and well maybe save another human from time to time, but mostly by circumstance. He doesn't actively *try* to be a 'good guy' but the nearby save haven of sorts (rebuilt town and shady community) seems to think so. Stories of him begin to spread and the name 'Hiro' is graciously *forced* upon him for his 'good deads'Slightly deadpool-esque humor, Hiro curses a lot, cynicism, oh and flirty witty banter.





	Wastelanders

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooooo~
> 
> This is a work in progress and I have a decent idea of which direction I'd like to take it ideally, but I'm not sure if it is an interesting enough concept for anyone else to want to read!
> 
> I am nervous! >.< Let me know if you like it with a Kudos pretty please :D
> 
> Comments fuel my soul~!

-Becoming a Wasteland-

That bright yellow-orange bastard in the sky blazed down on the desert that used to be Los Angeles guess I should be used to it by now. The fuzzy, blurry, whirling in my head was at its best for the time being which allowed me to close my eyes and bring the image of a few maps I’d seen once or twice to the front of my imagination. I double-checked that the safety on my 22 cal was off while planning my route between rocky hills and barely existent building ruin. ‘ _ Man, why can’t these idiots be deaf so I don’t have to park so far away? _ ’ I thought as I strategically crept toward the group of ‘Raiders’.

These aren’t your average looters they are widely referred to as ‘Raiders’ because nobody knows what the hell these  _ things _ are. Think that sounds stupid? Alright then let’s see  _ you _ give them a name… Most are tall, if they aren’t fat (or both), they have steroid-like bulky muscles, they are all male as far as anyone can tell. They wear shreds old clothing, vast amounts of metal scraps, and well pretty much anything they find. Once I tried prying off the mask of one I’d killed… Once... Why only once you ask? Well, let’s just say vomit smells better than the seemingly rotting flesh and ooze that plagued its face. Are they all like that? I’m not interested in finding out. I’d been monitoring them a few nights from afar-  _ if only I could find a sniper rifle lying around in this dump _ … anyway, they tend to mostly communicate using grunts and groans rather than an actual language. Though I have heard them mumble and yell in distorted English now and then, which was a surprise the first time I heard it, annoying the second time.

There were four of them surrounding the small dust-covered door that lead to the storage cellar I had been planning to check out. One of them was on his hands and knees pounding on the door with his big meaty discolored hands. I peeked around the corner of the tall tan boulder I was leaning against to get a closer look. 

“Hey! OPEN UP!” a Raider yelled.

“I smell girl” another snorted and tried to help the one on the floor pry the door open.

I sighed then shrugged ‘”I was gonna kill them anyway” I mumbled to myself as I walked out from behind the heap of a broken-down building I’d been using as cover in order to gauge the current situation.

I took them out one by one, one shot per kill, and sent one last bullet between the eyes of the one pounding on the door. I walked over and kicked the corpse off of the door, then rolled it far enough to be able to open the door. 

“Did it really say it smelled girl?” I mumbled skeptically then knelt down and knocked on the large steel circular door “Hey is anyone down there? It’s safe to come up now…” No answer.

I fished through my worn-down black gear bag for my lock pick set but after glancing at this reinforced steel door again I realized these tools were worthless in this situation. I wiped off a few smaller piles of excess dirt and debris and examined the door more closely. “If… anyone is alive down there don’t shoot me when I open this door” I called out as if someone were even inside. There was next to no way a person could survive for longer than a few weeks down there let alone a few months, but I’d never seen a group of Raiders so interested in what looked to be a small bomb shelter. 

I pulled a stethoscope out of my gear bag and placed in my ears, this instantly triggered a flash of memory, oh yeah that’s right, did I mention I have no idea who I am or who I was before the blast? The flashback - that’s what I’m calling them - was of me kneeling down next to a safe, more like a huge wall of a safe door… I could tell I had a stethoscope in my ears and was telling someone to ‘shut up and let me work’. That’s all I got from it. There lies the problem with my flashbacks, they are vague and fuzzy. 

I held my index finger and thumb at the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut, another drawback of the flashbacks, excruciating pain behind my eyes. I had unknowingly already placed the stethoscope against the large vault-like door on the ground when I began to hear a series of clicks. I hadn’t even begun to attempt to open the hatch, so where was this clicking coming from? Yeah don’t worry, I’m getting to the fun part.

“Step away from the door dirtbag” I heard from inside the vault, though the voice behind the words was obviously being altered by a voice changer. This mysterious vault-dweller sounded like someone on ‘to catch a predator’ who wanted to remain anonymous. I sighed and rolled my eyes before dropping the stethoscope to fall around my neck and out of my ears as I stood and took a step back. The vault door cracked open slowly, the air that seeped out from inside easily swept the dust and remaining debris from around the opening outward in a small cloud of dirt.

“Is it really a ‘dirtbag’ thing-to-do, single-handedly saving someone from four Raiders?” I muttered. 

The vault door suddenly flew open and clanged against the ground now wide open leaving only a small black circle of darkness and the barrel of a shotgun pointing directly at me. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” I muttered raising my hands in the typical fashion one would when attempting to avoid being shot. 

There was no audible response coming from the gun-toting, vault-dwelling, possible psycho. I took another step back and contemplated my reflexes, I could think of a few ways out of this, only two of the outcomes being personal injury or death. I decided to take my chances, if this person was planning to shoot me, surely they’d have already done so, there is a good chance they were just guarding their vault and whatever supplies and safety they had left. 

“Listen, I’m not here to take your shit, I’m looking for survivors…” I began taking the least offensive path I could think of.

The barrel remained pointed at me and only raised, it was kept trained on my chest, smart move, most would think a headshot would be more efficient but headshots are risky with the size difference between the target of someone’s chest versus the target of someone’s head. The barrel continued to rise, remaining aimed at my chest as the person wielding it climbed up and out of the vault. Motorcycle helmet. Seriously? The vault dweller dawned an all-black motorcycle helmet, my eyes followed the frame of this person’s shoulders, arms steady, lean build… no Adam's apple.

_ She _ continued to climb out of the vault until she stood at least a foot below me in height about half a yard away from me. “Get back” the voice changer continued, unbeknownst to the beholder, not fooling anyone.

“Woah Woah there easy where you’re pointing that thing, and you can lose the voice changer you’re not fooling anyone.” I continued with a steady voice and placating hands. I slowly pointed at my own throat and swallowed slightly to highlight my Adam's apple.

She audibly sighed and lowered her gun, _great_, now the barrel aimed directly at my hips. She stepped back, slipped the shotgun between her thighs to free her hands and began to remove the motorcycle helmet. She tugged at the hem of her off-white tank top, it was obvious there were linen bandages wrapped around her upper torso. _Injury?_ My unavoidable guy brain allowed my far-too-damn-curious eyes to drift down further, to eye the shotgun, of course. She’d wedged the shotgun between her thighs, which weren’t covered by much, other than a small pair of faded green cargo shorts that were, by my best estimate, barely past the curve of her ass. _'I'm in trouble'_

Of course, the desert wind kicked up as she pulled the helmet off and shook her hair loose, I know life can’t show anything in slow motion, but it did. She ran her fingers through her pale blonde hair and bent down to set the helmet on the floor. She grasped the shotgun comfortably and flicked the safety on before setting the butt of it on the floor, holding the tip of the barrel with the tips of her fingers and cocking her hips to one side. She rolled her blue-grey eyes, yes, she  _ rolled her eyes at me _ . “You’re obnoxiously observant. Oh, and  _ thanks _ for taking those  _ things _ down,” she said with obvious sarcasm in the second half. For a blonde girl having previously lived in L.A., she didn’t have the twang of an obnoxious valley girl, seemed she wasn’t the stereotype. More my type.

I knew my eyes were wide but damn, feisty little shit. I scoffed a laugh and lowered my hands to tug the stethoscope off of my neck and dropped it into my gear bag. “You survived in a vault for this long hm? Seems like everyone else was better off with you in there...” I jabbed back but shot her a grin and waited to see how she’d take it. 

Her eyes widened slightly and her cheeks flushed a tad, hm, pretty girl, on her own, not used to guys giving her shit right back. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you considering that you’re on your own, wandering around trying to break open bomb shelters.” She eyed the shotgun and let it spin with her fingertips dancing along the edge of the barrel.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
